


Better Than None

by Lexigent



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3513812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexigent/pseuds/Lexigent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Come At Once, for the prompt "wishful thinking".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than None

Watson checked the clock to see if the witching hour had yet struck (it hadn’t, it was just after ten p.m.), considered how much brandy he’d had tonight, and came to the conclusion that neither of those could be responsible for the figure standing in his front room.

Considering further that he was not of a nervous disposition and that his friend’s loss was not what one would call recent, he was forced to conclude that, rather than a figment of his own wishful thinking, it was indeed Sherlock Holmes, as he lived and breathed. 

Watson had no small desire to punch the man in the face, but there were other things he wanted to do to that face. And those hands. And everything else.

Holmes stood, the expression on his face indescribable, waiting for Watson to react. 

Slowly, with deliberation, Watson drew himself up to his full height, then crossed the distance between himself and Holmes and kissed him full on the lips. Holmes, dropped the cane he’d been holding on to and responded in kind. One of his hands was lost in Watson’s hair, while Watson was already busy exploring the lower regions of Holmes’ body. 

Watson broke the kiss. “We should move this somewhere else,” he said with a nod towards the windows.

“Is that your only concern, I mean, I was expecting you’d have… questions?” Holmes was clearly trying to keep his voice steady with great difficulty.

“I have about a million and one of those, yes,” Watson confirmed, “but they’ll keep.” He started loosening Holmes’ tie and sucking on the bit of exposed skin on the side of his neck. Holmes sighed with unmistakable pleasure, then gently pushed Watson away from him, leaning their foreheads together.

“John,” he began.

“You’re right,” Watson said before Holmes had got any further. “You don’t deserve any of this. What you deserve is a punch in the face. But that’ll keep, too.”  
And with that, he dragged Holmes off to the bedroom.

As in the days before the Reichenbach incident, Holmes was happy to be led. Watson started kicking off his shoes on the way to the bedroom and was divesting himself of his clothes before the door was completely closed. Holmes undressed more slowly, allowing Watson’s gaze to linger on his body. He had lost weight, Watson thought, and wasn’t too sure he liked it. Before long they fell together, skin against skin on the clean sheets of Watson’s bed.

Watson stilled for a moment, relishing the sensation of Holmes’s body against his. It had been far, far too long.

He pinned Holmes to the mattress by the wrists and came face to face with him, then moved on top of Holmes and circled his hand around Holmes’ cock. Holmes gave in to the sensation for a couple of strokes, leaned back and let a groan escape his throat, then twisted away and stopped Watson’s hand with his own.

“Please,” he said, “let me.”

There was something in his voice that Watson had never heard from him before, so he stopped what he was doing and let Holmes take the lead. Holmes shifted them so they were on their sides, next to one another, and began stroking Watson with a firm grasp.

Watson had never been able to resist his friend’s delicate hands, inside the bedroom or out of it. He came with a cry, muffled against Holmes’ shoulder, panting helplessly as Holmes worked him through it.

Holmes kissed him deeply, pulling him close. Watson reached over in the spirit of returning the favour, but Holmes stopped his hand again and turned on his back.  
“Just watch.” He laced the fingers of his left hand through Watson’s right and started touching himself with his other hand. Still in the afterglow of his own climax, Watson watched the shades of pleasure and agony play across Holmes’ face until he spent with a groan, spilling all over his hand and belly.

They cleaned up as best they could before falling asleep on each other.

***

Watson awoke to Holmes pulling on his clothes and making rather more noise than was necessary in the process. It was still dark outside.

“Holmes,” he murmured from under the covers, “what on Earth?”

“There are affairs, Watson, that do not tolerate any delay.” He tried to straighten out his tie in preparation for doing it up but Watson grabbed one end of it and tugged it out of Holmes’ hands. Holmes made an overdramatic gesture.

“Would now be a good time for you to deliver that punch in the face you spoke of earlier?”

Watson gave him a look and raised his hand.


End file.
